


I Have Sown Dragon's Teeth

by rightsidethru



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gift Fic, Gift Work, M/M, Tony is rather Merchant of Death-y in this one, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, you'll eventually see what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/pseuds/rightsidethru
Summary: Asgard receives an unexpected guest from the Shi'ar galaxy:A merchant from Sparta has come to trade.(But appearances are more than what they initially seem.)





	I Have Sown Dragon's Teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STARSdidathing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARSdidathing/gifts).



> Title is a reference to a quote by Heinrich Heine and goes: “I have sown Dragon's teeth and reaped only fleas.” Which is, in itself, a reference to [Spartoi mythology](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spartoi). 
> 
> So this is another gift fic for Stars *squishes* and, though she gave me a list of criteria she wanted for a gift fic...
> 
> ...I don't think that I filled any of them. :D;; I'M SORRY, STARS. Honestly, it started with the request for Asgardian!Tony, but then I was all "Ha! I shall tease her and swap it with Spartoi!Tony, especially since I want to suck her into Guardians because Peter is also perfect in his asshole-ish-ness!"... and then it kind of spiraled out of control and this is what I ended up with despite meeting any of your criteria. XD;; (I'm soooooorry!! ...hopefully you'll like it, anyway. Maybe.)
> 
> Regardless, you're kinda making out on the gift fic side of things. ;D

It was a rare occasion indeed when the Asgardian people met with a people that they had little to no contact with.

There had always been tension between them and certain alien races, distance an understandable result of that distrust and dislike both—but to come across an entire people that the golden race knew so little about, rarely came into contact with…? It was an event that happened perhaps once a millennium.

The ship that had landed at the port down in the city had been one of unusual origin; the dockmaster that ran the area with an iron fist had signaled the palace at its first approach, ensuring that the captain of the guard—and the king, as well—knew of the strange, incoming visitor. Unusual, too, in the fact that, despite the fact that the starship’s design had been unplaceable, it had still transmitted the appropriate ‘friendly’ sequence as it came in to dock.

It was because of this culmination of elements that ensured that Odin stood at the entrance to the newcomer’s dockslip, Gungnir in hand and both of his sons at his back: Thor gripped Mjölnir tight in one hand, tense with hammer ready to fly at the slightest hint of aggression from their would-be visitors, and Loki, in contrast, was relaxed and empty-handed. However, as always, appearances were deceiving when it came to the younger prince.

The gangplank eventually lowered, and it was not long after that Asgard’s newest visitor carefully made his way down the steep incline.

“ _Spartoi_ ,” Odin murmured softly enough that he did not mean for his sons to hear, and it was the surprise and wariness in the king’s voice that narrowed Loki’s attention, sharpening it to match any of the blades hidden on his person.

The _man_ who finally stepped out on level ground was shorter than what would be considered normal in Asgard; despite the lack of height, however, the brunette carried himself well: posture straight, limbs at his sides—though, most likely, _that_ was because there must be a hidden weapon or two somewhere in that particular vicinity—and a pair of expressive, earth-brown eyes that had no trouble meeting Odin’s. There was a confidence about the newcomer, an arrogance that came backed with dancing, cold calculations that flickered through that dark gaze. The stylized goatee accented a sharp jaw, and Loki knew himself well enough to admit that the man was attractive.

(Whether it was due more to the newcomer’s features or the sharp intelligence that gleamed in the other’s eyes… well, that was to be seen.)

“Greetings,” Odin eventually said as the man stepped closer to the waiting trio; muted thunder rumbled within his words: Asgard made up the bones of her king, and the king’s word was—literally—law here. And with the stories that had been told about the Spartoi, as few as they had ever been… a reminder of that fact was perhaps necessary. “The Nine Realms rarely get visitors from other galaxies. And you are a long way from the Greater Magellanic Cloud, traveler.”

“But isn’t that the _point_ of being a traveler, Majesty?” the stranger riposted easily in turn, lifting a dark brown brow as his lips curved into a sly, lopsided smirk. “To make connections, see new sights, barter and trade between various people. To see how far you can go, in the end.”

“A journey for journey’s sake?” Odin drolled, disbelief heavy in his voice.

“A journey for profit’s sake, which I’m sure you can’t fault me for,” the stranger answered with a laugh, offering a courtly bow to accompany his words. Loki caught the edge of the man’s gaze, however: saw, too, that those complex calculations had yet to leave the stranger’s eyes.

 _A new puzzle for me to piece together and learn_ , the younger prince suddenly thought, heated greed pooling within his belly at the thought of finally getting the chance to _play_ with another trickster not his mother; too long had Loki grown used to the same expected, standard, _acceptable_ behavior that made up Asgardian bedrock—this man was something, some _one_ , new… and he exuded intelligence and hidden-tricks with the few turns of phrases offered. Loki _wanted_ to match himself against the other man.

“I’ve been remiss in my manners, however,” the stranger continued, straightening once more after lingering just a few seconds in that extravagant bow—long enough to be polite, but certainly short enough to be a backhanded insult should someone take it as such. “I am Tony of the House S’tark. I’m from Spartax, as well you’ve gathered, Majesty.”

Odin’s jaw tightened, muscle ticking along its edge, and Loki could not help but wonder which of the stranger’s—of Tony’s—words triggered such a reaction in the usually unflappable king.

“I bid you welcome to Asgard, Tony of Spartax,” the old battle-god eventually replied, and his single eye turned almost cold. “We do not usually get so unusual a guest, and so I must insist on you staying in one of our suites during your stay here in my realm. Perhaps, besides a physical sort of profit, we can each benefit from a sort of intellectual one, as well.”

Tony dipped his head in agreement and continued forward to stop before Odin and his sons, waiting for the trio to lead them away from the dockslip; that same small smirk played upon his lips, dangerous in all of the ways that Loki best recognized, and—still silent—Loki truly realized just how desperately he wanted to _play_ with the other.

As the men turned to leave, Tony paused for a moment, however, glancing over a shoulder to call out: “Close ‘er up, JARVIS.”

“As you wish, Sir. Have a pleasant visit,” a lightly accented, nebulous voice responded in turn, and the gangplank began to draw upwards, sealing the ship up and putting it in stand-by as all of the exterior lights dimmed in quiet readiness for the pilot’s return.

Loki did not bother trying to stifle the tremor of foreboding as they walked away from the ship.

++

Days passed.

Despite the fact that Odin could _see_ the various deals, the exchanges made and the payments offered with Asgard’s various craftsmen, the king still did not relax. He kept a wary eye on the Spartoi, eye never truly leaving him; yet, no matter how closely Odin watched, Tony did nothing that could be considered suspicious.

So focused on the stranger, however, Odin did not see just how thoroughly fascinated Loki had become with him:

Tony was incredibly intelligent, sharp-witted and possessed a bladed enough tongue that he oftentimes left _Loki_ surprised at his replies. The dark-eyed man was attractive and attractive in all the best sorts of ways: he did not understand the prince’s magic, could not replicate or do any of it for himself—but it did not _matter_ because he listened to Loki speak of it in a way that was so rare in Asgard. Almost always, Loki had been dismissed and mocked for his natural talent and fierce interest in learning magic. ‘Women’s craft,’ others had claimed, gazes full of judgment as they settled on the svelte prince. ‘Trickster’s weapon.’

But Tony had questions, strived to understand what he could—and, in a way, his inability to do magic for himself was more than augmented by what his technology was capable of. In the days that came and went, Loki learned that the disembodied voice was JARVIS, Tony’s personal A.I. and assistant. Literally: the Spartoi’s co-pilot.

Days came and went, and Loki found himself more and more fascinated with the other man.

Wanted to _keep_ him in a way that he had never before wanted from another person.

(Did not want to consider the fact that, like all visits, things must eventually come to an end.)

++

Odin and Frigga had been called away to Vanaheim to restructure an old treaty with the queen’s original people; whispers and unrest stirred within the Nine Realms, spreading dangerously like an infectious disease—and Odin knew that it was a campaign that he needed to quiet immediately before war broke out once more between realms.

It hadn’t been _that_ long since the Frost Giants had called for blood and battle, after all.  
(And people’s memories were long and grudges held longer-still.)

With Thor gone adventuring with the Warriors Three and Sif, Loki took advantage of his lack of chaperon to take Tony down into the vaults beneath the palace; they had consistently been one of his favorite places to visit—besides the library, which had always been readily apparent—but it was not often that Loki decided to venture down into the cold, quiet depths.

Now, though: he wanted to go through the war-plunder of a thousand worlds and a thousand more battles, voice low and murmuring in a story-telling cadence as the two men drifted past each item. Loki had long ago memorized his father’s histories, knew each blood-soaked tale by heart—had learned them all early on, in both his history books and Odin himself as he wandered down the aisles with Loki and Thor in tow.

The duo made their way past the Casket of Ancient Winters, and it was there that Tony stilled before reaching out, fingertips brushing lightly over the case’s glacial-blue top. “I am curious as to why Odin keeps this down here, gathering dust. He gave Thor Mjölnir from this vault. Shouldn’t he have given you the Casket at that time, too?”

Loki’s bright green gaze flickered towards Tony at that particular comment. The current tale trickled off into silence even as the prince’s brow furrowed in blatant confusion. “There are other weapons that I could potentially lay claim to, should I desire them. But the Casket of Ancient Winters would not be one of them—only a Frost Giant is capable of wielding its power. Anyone else who attempts it… well, the consequences are not pleasant.”

Tony’s brow lifted at the mage’s comment. “And again: Shouldn’t he have given you the Casket, Prince?”

Confusion flickered in Loki’s gaze, as well as a certain type of wariness—caution rising to the foreground as the sudden thought that _Tony_ had somehow managed to put together his own personal puzzle even while _Loki_ was still picking apart his own sparked to life. “…I do not believe I catch your meaning, Tony.”

“Use it, Loki,” the Spartoi answered, expression carefully neutral. “I could sense it the first time we met—the energy. You weren’t aware…?”

The more Tony spoke, the faster Loki’s heart beat. Dread weighed heavy in his belly, and from the other man’s meaning alone… the mage felt as if he would be sick. If it was true… _if it was true_ … what would it mean? Would his entire existence be a lie? Had the royal family took in a monster from the cold, dressed it up in finery, and attempted to teach it to ape its betters…? Was he--?

( _Am I the monster parents tell their children about at night…?_ )

He reached out and settled an elegantly graceful hand atop the Casket of Ancient Winters, reaching out with acid-green magic; Loki wished—fervently—that his pale skin would blacken from frostbite from the attempt to use the foreign relic, would then need to go to the infirmary to heal the damage done to himself… but, instead, his fingertips began to bleed blue.

“ _No_ ,” Loki denied, horror in his eyes and laced through his voice.

Unseen, Tony smiled, sharp and fox-like and pleased.

++

Loki’s rage was an incandescent star, coldly bright—and terrifying for all of its sub-arctic chill—at the Spartoi’s shoulder. The prince had said little after the reveal, but the fury that turned his eyes black was telling enough. As was the fact that the mage had taken the Casket and hidden it in one of his many storage dimensions: a birthright talisman that Odin had stolen as a war-trophy for himself. Perhaps, as well, had never intended to return it to one of its rightful owners.

The two men made their way deeper into Odin’s Vault, eventually stopping before the item that Tony had most wanted to see.

His gaze sparked with hunger and satisfaction both, and the alien man carefully picked up the Tesseract to carefully inspect it from all sides. The Gem flared suddenly at the Spartoi’s touch, burning an even brighter, more dangerous blue, and Tony slowly smiled in answer. “We were always taught that the Cosmic Cubes had a sort of sentience to them. This is the first time I’ve managed to see one in person. The Beyonders will be glad to get this one back.”

“What do you mean?” the mage asked in reply, voice low with restrained rage, hoarse with the scream that Loki refused to release no matter how much it expanded his chest. Perhaps it was because Loki was afraid that, once he began, it would be impossible to stop: fueled by a thousand years of betrayal and familial bonds broken and shattered and _never even there_.

Tony glanced over at the prince at that, mahogany eyes nearly gold as his previously hidden energy flared bright in triumph. “I _did_ come here to broker a treaty with a people. But _not_ with the Asgardians.”

Implications, understandings, tricks and schemes and a plot so intricately executed went tumbling ‘round in Loki’s mind, connections and threads colliding and twining together, and the mage _saw_ : so beautifully done that the once-prince couldn’t even be truly upset by the fact that he had been more a piece on the board than a fellow player sitting opposite.

_Next time, however--_

“Take me with you, Tony.”

++

“Welcome back, Sir,” JARVIS greeted as Tony walked up the lowered platform to once more return to the belly of his starship, Cosmic Cube safely squirreled away in one of his portable storage pouches. The Spartoi was shadowed by a secondary figure, movements restrained but still carrying so very much fury—each gesture a promise of violence to come should that restraint shatter. “And welcome, as well, Prince Loki.”

“Loki. Only Loki, JARVIS. I am no _prince_ ; I never was,” the taller of the two men shortly responded, voice terse.

“As you wish, Loki,” came the A.I.’s polite, to-the-point answer.

The rage spiked at the merchant’s shoulder, large enough that Tony turned to face Loki completely. Reaching up, the dark-eyed man cupped the other’s cheek against the calloused skin of his palm as a thumb dipped down to idly brush along the sharp edge of Loki’s jawline.

“It’s their loss,” Tony reminded the one-time prince. “And it’s my gain—many times over.” A wide smile curled his lips upwards, and a gentle tug brought the svelte man closer, chest pressing against chest. “I’ve always thought that I would make a rather dashing pirate. And I’ve made off with all _sorts_ of treasure this particular trip.”

The words were almost flippantly said, but meaning in them was clear enough for Loki to understand:

Slowly, bit by bit, he began to relax against the shorter man, allowing Tony to take on more of his weight.

“Shall I inform your cousin that you are finally on your way, Sir?” JARVIS asked when the silence between his creator and newly stolen ‘treasure’ began to stretch into minutes.

Tony’s grin stretched wider at the question, wolfish and predatory, hidden as he turned his head to brush the bristled edge of his jawline against Loki’s smooth cheek, gesture possessive in how it left behind the blush of a beard burn.

“Sure, J. Might as well—J’son will have plenty of comments about how long I’ve been away, regardless.”

It wasn't the first time that Tony had talked the Emperor into seeing things his way, however; and, besides, Tony may have been later than expected in his return, but his cousin would end up wth _two_ new allies, not just the expected, original one.

(And Loki truly was so horrifically under appreciated in Asgard. It only served them right that Tony stole the mage for himself.)

::fin::

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> If you're feeling social, feel free to stop by and say [hi](http://rightsidethru.tumblr.com/).


End file.
